


To and Fro, To and Fro, To and Fro

by luxale



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: All characters - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern AU, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:36:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxale/pseuds/luxale
Summary: Dolokhov made plenty of poor decisions in his life, but probably none as foolish as this one. He paced the room, checking the time over and over again. His new roommate, a childhood friend, was to arrive at 11, and time couldn’t be moving slower.





	To and Fro, To and Fro, To and Fro

Dolokhov made plenty of poor decisions in his life, but probably none as foolish as this one. He paced the room, checking the time over and over again. His new roommate, a childhood friend, was to arrive at 11, and time couldn’t be moving slower.

Though he had known the man in his childhood, he knew nothing of him past the age of thirteen, and time could change a man drastically. He, of course, knew of his sister Hélène, married to his friend, Pierre. Hélène was a mischievous and shameless woman, but that was nothing shocking considering who lived in his building. Dolokhov was worried only that her brother would be too similar.

When he had moved into this building, a little under a year ago, he had unwittingly joined a strange community in its city. The apartment building, neat but relatively cheap, teemed with odd, curious people. Parties raged into ungodly hours of the night, laughter could be heard behind every door, and the residents dressed in unique, beautiful style. Though Dolokhov had never experienced a place like this before, he quickly warmed up to the community, adopting their habits and lifestyle with little hesitation.

Hélène was kind to him, perhaps a bit too much, but soon after his move, Hélène left to visit her brother on short notice. She sent a concise letter to Dolokhov claiming that she had to stay with her brother permanently, and had not since returned. No one talked about it much, but Pierre, already shy enough, had retreated into his home and rarely emerged other than for necessary errands.

So, perhaps Dolokhov was an idiot for allowing the brother of a woman who up and left his husband to move in with him, but honestly, he needed the help on the rent. It was better than a complete stranger, wasn’t it? And now it was 11:30 and he still wasn’t here. Dolokhov retired to the sleek dark-grey sofa, flipping through the channels on his television aimlessly until finally he heard a hard rap at the door.

He jumped up, flipping off the TV and straightening his collared shirt and vest, a look which he had picked up from his neighbors and quite liked. Not that he had put on his best “classy but casual” clothes today for meeting his old friend. Not at all.

He strode to the door, opened it, and froze.

Standing in front of him, with sleekly gelled up platinum hair and a brilliantly handsome smile, stood Anatole Kuragin; no longer a pubescent boy and seemingly well aware of it. Dolokhov couldn’t help but stare for a few moments.

“Hello, Anatole,” Dolokhov blurted out finally, extending his hand.

Anatole smirked and waved the hand away, instead embracing him tightly. “Hello Fedya, old friend,” Anatole replied softly, his breath blowing the hair near Dolokhov’s ear softly. Dolokhov suppressed a shiver at the sound of his childhood nickname, and was just beginning to lean into the hug when the other man pulled away too quickly, and Hélène Bezukhova appeared in the doorway behind Anatole.

“Hello again, Dolokhov!” She crooned, embracing him as well. Her sweet scent enveloped Dolokhov’s senses, but he managed to pull back from the hug at an appropriate time and responded to her greeting.

Turning around, Dolokhov found Anatole inspecting the apartment, shedding his green coat and laying it over the back of a stool in the kitchen.

“Does it suit your fancy, Anatole?” He asked casually, and when Anatole rounded to face him, eyes glistened with excitement.

“It’s lovely,” Anatole hummed. “Now, where is my bedroom?”

 

The unpacking went by quickly enough, but Dolokhov felt as though he were more of a burden than a help after a while, with Anatole and Hélène flitting by him in much too close of proximity. The way the two siblings moved around each other so seamlessly was captivating. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking, finishing each other’s sentences and grabbing and rearranging different pieces of furniture without consulting the other. It was overwhelming, and Dolokhov decided to retire once again to the sofa, restraining himself from pouring a glass of wine at noon.

Some time after one, Anatole swept back into the living room, sending in a rush of cold air along with him. Dolokhov looked up curiously to see the man holding up a wallet. “Come on, Fedya, let’s— you, I and Hélène— get some lunch, to celebrate the move!”

“Why not?” Dolokhov huffed, rising from the couch and beginning a hunt for shoes.

“No can do, sweet brother,” Hélène called, entering the room. “I must go visit my—” she groaned, “—my husband. You two lovelies have fun at lunch.” She cooed this last sentence as she walked by Dolokhov, who was at the moment sitting on a stool precariously, tying a pair of shoes which he found sticking out from under the sofa. She cupped his face as she walked by, winking openly, and then she was gone.

Anatole laughed softly as the front door shut. “My sister is quite the flirt, isn’t she?” He smiled at Dolokhov as he stood up. “I suppose we really are brother and sister.”

Dolokhov opened his mouth to offer up a confused response, but Anatole was already swinging out the door, green coat in his hand. Dolokhov grabbed his coat and followed him quickly, deciding to ignore the comment.

 

Despite his confident exit and swaggering walk, Anatole obviously had no idea where he was going. Dolokhov soon took to directing the other man through the city, though Anatole did not let him get a step in front of him.

This game of power ended quite abruptly as they reached the lunch spot, a place which boasted serving brunch food until three pm, but Anatole showed one last bit of power by holding open the door for Dolokhov. Dolokhov entered while rolling his eyes.

They took their seats at a table by the window and a waitress quickly dropped off their menus and asked them for their drink orders. Dolokhov asked for coffee— black— and Anatole smiled sweetly up at the waitress and ordered strawberry lemonade. The waitress’ face began to color pink at his smile, and she wrote down the orders and left, flustered.

“What, no coffee?” Dolokhov asked as the waitress hurried away. “Don’t tell me you’re not a coffee drinker, Anatole. I might have to ask you to move out.”

Anatole, still watching the waitress, laughed. “Hélène and I stopped for coffee twice on the way this morning. Besides,” the waitress glanced over at their table and Anatole stared at her shamelessly, causing her to squeak softly and turn away again, “I could use something sweet.”  
It was beginning to settle in that Anatole was nothing like the shy child Dolokhov had known as a boy; the one who was made fun of for his unnatural hair and odd, but enchanting, facial structure. The one who was beaten up for being a snobby rich kid. Though in reality he hardly said a word to anyone, snobbishly or not. The one who Dolokhov found crying on the playground, bleeding from his cheek. The one who Dolokhov protected from that day on until the Kuragins moved away.

He digressed. Regardless of the past, this new overconfident man was the Anatole he allowed to move into his apartment. And he wasn’t sure if he trusted his new man or not. How would he deal with living with someone so ridiculous as this, with his shameless flirting and power games? He knew people like him from apartments nearby—hell, he had even been to parties and hooked up with similar people—but to invite one into his home? To live with him? Who else would Anatole start bringing home? Would Dolokhov never be able to be at peace in his apartment again? Would he—

“Fedya, are you okay?”

Dolokhov realized that he had been glaring into his coffee, gripping the mug so tight that his knuckles began to pale. How did that mug even get there? When did the waitress come by with their drinks? He let go of the mug quickly, straightened his back, and raised his eyes, realizing that the waitress had asked for his order twice and he completely ignored her. He stared with wide eyes at the waitress, then turned slowly to face Anatole, who had called his name. His pale eyes displayed concern, and Dolokhov felt his face begin to heat as a red flush washed over his cheeks.

“Um, yes, sorry,” Dolokhov looked down at his menu quickly and ordered a sausage egg and cheese bagel, not daring to look back up at the waitress or Anatole.

“Thank you, Christina,” Anatole said in a sickly sweet hum, but Dolokhov saw nothing. He was too busy staring into his coffee again, this time out of embarrassment rather than deep thought. And who was he to judge Anatole? He’s barely been around him for three hours. Maybe, he was just trying to impress Dolokhov with these strange behaviors. Maybe, he’d been around his sister for too long. Dolokhov shook his leg under the table unconsciously and soon felt his flushed face begin to cool. He looked up, straight into pale grey eyes. Anatole. Anatole, who was staring down at him curiously. But as soon as their eyes met, Anatole looked out across the room and took a sip of his lemonade, casual as can be.

“Looking for Christina?” Dolokhov asked slyly, trying to shake off his embarrassment.

“Oh, the waitress?” Anatole scoffed. “No, she’s just a bit of fun, you know. Something to keep me entertained while you stare down your coffee mug.” Anatole raised an eyebrow at the cup in his hand.

Dolokhov opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he tell his childhood friend that he had just realized how little he knows about him and how scared he is for this man to live in his apartment? Not the best idea. Not that today was full of good ideas anyways, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly and hurriedly. “We just… haven’t seen each other in a while, that’s all.”

Anatole leaned back, smiling widely. “That shouldn’t stop us from having fun, Fedya!” He exclaimed, beaming at him across the table. “We should go out to a club tonight. How about that, eh? There must be some clubs around here.”

Dolokhov sighed, thinking about the hectic closeness and volume of clubs. “I’d rather not on the first night you’re here, Anatole. You’ve only barely moved in your furniture, and you haven’t even unpacked clothes, have you?”

“If you’re worried about me not having a perfect outfit for the club on hand, you are sorely mistaken!” Anatole said, ignoring Dolokhov’s hesitation. “I packed one in my backpack, just in case.”

Dolokhov let out a short laugh, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Have you been planning this? To go out and get me drunk?”

“Oh, don’t think that I’m so vindictive, Fedya,” Anatole crooned. “I’m planning on getting both of us equally drunk! I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.” He stared at Dolokhov intently, and he tried not to show any flicker of emotion, though his insides twisted with confusion.  
The food arrived shortly, and the two were silent for a few minutes as they dug into their food. Dolokhov hadn’t ate all morning, as he was too busy straightening up the place; he wolfed down his meal quickly. Taking a sip, he glanced over at Anatole, who was taking a bite of his Monte Cristo. Anatole’s eyes were fixed somewhere else, and suddenly he stopped chewing.

Dolokhov followed Anatole’s eyesight and peered out the window, where a young woman and man stood, deep in conversation. The woman, slender and dark skinned, with big brown eyes, was talking to a man, her face full of such deep betrayal that it hurt Dolokhov to look at her, despite her beauty. The man just looked down at her with some sort of mix of love and sadness. An autumn breeze swirled by them, blowing the man’s hair sideways slightly and causing the woman’s scarf to flutter, but they paid no attention to the weather, to busy staring at each other. Dolokhov looked back at Anatole, who thankfully hadn’t choked on his food, but was now staring at the woman with a primal intensity. Dolokhov quickly looked away from him, his intense and hungry stare making him uncomfortable and hot, even though it hadn’t been directed at him. When he glanced out the window again, the couple was gone.

“Now that,” Anatole murmured, turning back to Dolokhov, the piercing expression digging into Dolokhov’s chest, “is entertainment.” He smiled lazily, glancing after the two.

Dolokhov swallowed sharply, adjusting his shirt collar and taking a sip of coffee. “Maybe she’ll be at the club,” he scoffed, a bit too aggressively.  
Anatole didn’t seem to notice his tone. Instead, his eyes snapped back to Dolokhov’s and a mischievous smile crept onto his face.

“So, you will come with me to the club tonight?” He asked, giddy.

Dolokhov sighed and looked at Anatole, nibbling on his toast to give himself a moment to think. “Maybe,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair and keeping his gaze locked on the other’s.

“Perfect, I’ll get you all dressed up tonight and we’ll go.” Anatole said conclusively, waving to Christina to ask for the check; not letting a moment go by without coloring the girl’s cheeks a darker and darker pink. Unable to formulate an argument to combat Anatole’s plan, Dolokhov waited with his mouth hanging slightly open, only barely noticing that Anatole insisted on paying the whole check.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this fic (I know it's short, bear with me I'll try to make the next ones longer). Leaving comments and kudos would be much appreciated, as they'll help give me motivation to write the next chapter. I'd like to thank [ noclouds ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/noclouds) for being my beta and being extremely supportive about my writing! (You should check out his work!!!)  
> My tumblr is [ here ](https://andisthatnatasha.tumblr.com/), come yell at me if you want. I'll also post there when I update, so you know ASAP!


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